Horrors of Truth
by Vampiric Hyde
Summary: Dogget's thought on Via Negativa... The case, the man, and the meaning.


Horrors of Truth

I'm not a skeptic. Never have been, never will be as far as I'm concerned. I need concrete evidence, legible facts, and tangible proof.

Sure, I've seen things I can't explain. I saw a man fall off a cliff. This man disappeared within less than an hour, presumably just stood up and walked away. I've seen a young boy who seemed to have an endless life. I've been faced with an old friend who told me he was going backwards in days, and had an excellent story to support what he said.

I've also read over the files of Agent Scully and her currently missing partner, Agent Mulder. There's some pretty strange shit in those, things I never would've believed before signing onto the X-files, but it can all be explained. With what I believe, it has to be explainable.

Yeah, I saw what I saw, read what I read, but I believe there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of it. How can I think that after what I found out? Well, the world is a damned strange place, and not everything can be explained easily. The answer is out there, somewhere, and I refuse to believe otherwise.

Nothing hit me like the last case I took, though I don't know if I can explain it well enough to give it its due credit. The reason it hit me hardest is, besides my being part of it, that it had severe strains on my minds and my ideas.

The case was against an Anthony Tipet, the leader of a cult. All of the members of his group were found dead, killed by the blow of an axe. As the case went on, more victims were taken, until I believed I would be next.

It was one hell of a strange case, with evidence that didn't help with anything, and scenarios that couldn't possibly have been humanly possible to create, though they obviously were.

The case was strange, but until I began to have the dreams, it seemed almost like the others. When I started to have the dreams, it started to get worse.

The first time I saw him I was walking in the jail where an old drug buddy of his was being held for questioning. As I walked through the halls, I realized that the same bloody shoeprints that had been at the scene of the crime were on the floor, and found that they belonged to myself.

When I looked up, Tipet was floating in mid air, mediation style, with a look of torn calmness on his face. Directly above and between his two normal eyes was a third. All three had stared, not even blinking, at me, with a blank look. At that moment, I felt a shudder pass through my body. Something wasn't right with that gaze; something was unnatural. The eyes held an evil inside of them that was as real as any human and as unreal as any monster or celestial being.

In the next moment, I realized that I was holding the decapitated head of Agent Scully, a look of horror plastered over the white face. Strings of entangled muscles and drops of blood scoured through the tissue and hung out of the red area where there should've been a connection to the rest of the body, but wasn't. Horrified, I let it fall, and And then I woke up.

The next time I saw him, it was in my own house. First, he appeared in the mirror, the unnatural third eye staring at me. Later that night I could've sworn I saw him walking into my room with the axe in his hand.

All of that pulled my nerves to an end, and I knew I needed answer. Skinner suggested that I just needed sleep. Big help there. Going to sleep would mean that Tipet would return with the dreams, possibly bringing death with him.

When we confronted Tipet, not long after that second dream, he pleaded to us, saying that he didn't want to be killing all of the people. I don't know what made me do it, but I completely believed him.

That was when he said something that really struck me hard. When Skinner asked him what he was talking about, he pointed at me. "He knows," his voice wavered slightly, but there was a confidence there, and I knew he was sure I did.

He was absolutely correct. By then, I understood that he wasn't doing the killing purposefully, and that he was being controlled by a darkness that had almost never been seen, a darkness with a power so great it could swallow the lives of anyone it saw.

Skinner was convinced that there was a supernatural connection, I still wasn't. Yes, there was something going on, but it was perfectly explainable, had to be.

When Tipet nearly killed himself and slipped into a coma, after he had fallen asleep, I asked myself why I hadn't let him die. Yes, I wanted answers, but I knew, somehow I knew, that they wouldn't come.

And that was when I had another one, another dream. Or perhaps it was a hallucination, I really couldn't tell.

I was walking down the halls of the FBI headquarters, heading toward a destination that for some reason I couldn't recall. As I stepped off of the elevator and onto floor two, I was plagued with hollow voices, all reaching into my mind, my soul, and my very existence.

A strange sort of misty fog drifted lazily about the area, and my footsteps sounded like gunshots in the empty hallways as they bounced off of the walls. The whole hallways held the aura of an empty cave, and seemed to keep the same mystery and danger.

The voices continued to it me hard, digging into me, and I tried to ignore them, tried as hard as I could. I stopped where two hallways crossed paths and listened, than heard what I didn't want too.

Footsteps were walking in my direction from down the corridor. They had an uneven quality, as if whoever they belonged too was walking strangely. As a shadow approached, I realized that the person was walking strangely, with a slow, uneven pace. As the shadow came even closer, I realized that it was Tipet.

He stepped into the light, all three eyes closed. The man was turned towards me, and would've been looking straight at me if his eyes hadn't been shut.

"You can't do that to her," I nearly choked on the words, and his eyes flew open with a rapidity that scared me for half a second. The shock of seeing three eyes open on a human is not one of usual nature, at least as far as I know.

Without even thinking clearly, I knew he understood me. We seemed to understand each other, though I couldn't tell why. "I'm not going too," he nearly whispered in his dry, stale voice. I knew before he spoke what would come next. "You are."

"No!" I growled, nearly yelled out, and he slowly opened a door. Dark blue light, alternating with blackness, flashed through.

With a slight nod that said 'follow me' he entered, and, not even knowing what I was doing, I followed.

What I noticed first was that I was in a hospital room. I knew who it belonged too, who it had to belong too. Agent Scully, of course.

The blue continued to flash through the black, and the next thing I knew was that I was holding an axe. The axe that had been used to murder the victims, and there was no hard guess at who the next was going to be.

I raised the axe, under a strange sort of hold, than looked at the woman in the bed and set it down. I closed my eyes tightly for a second, than felt a burst of something unexplainable in my mind. Without second thoughts, I followed the path force in my mind spoke of, and picked the axe up, holding it high above my head.

Just as I was about to swing it, I felt myself coming back to consciousness, and was faced with Scully standing beside my bed. I had been, it appeared, dreaming again. She said Tipet was dead, that there was nothing else left for that case.

And she said what I had been through had all been a dream, all an insignificant dream.

Maybe it was a dream, I do believe that, but I believe there was significance to it. There was no doubt in my mind that it had meant something, and I believed there was an explanation for it. Maybe in time I would find it.

Just as Tipet had found what he had been searching for. He had been looking for a third eye, one that would take him closer to God. He had found the eye, but it hadn't brought him closer to God. He had also found his inner darkness, but that didn't take him to God, either. Both took him to a darkness of hell that he, and anyone else, for that matter, didn't deserve to see. It plunged him into a darkness of all darkness, and he was unable to get out. Tipet had discovered the horrors of truth.

Hell, if the answer to the dream is anywhere near as dark as the answer to Tipet's goals, maybe I'm just better off thinking, or just forgetting the whole damn thing.

Maybe.

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End file.
